Why I Cheat On My Husband--and I Don't Plan to Stop

I agreed to meet my friend at a local park to talk about his texts. As we sat on the bench, he leaned over and abruptly kissed me.

I touched my tingling lips, in awe of the sensation.

This man wanted me.

I've cheated on my husband of 20 years with two men, and I have no intention of stopping. Why do this? Why am I one of the 13% of women who cheat on their husbands? In my case, our zombified bedroom held me, hostage, until I broke free. After all those years of yearning for his touch and not receiving it, I knew my marriage was deader than dead and not coming back.

I'm a horrible person, or so our culture would have you believe. But I'm not actually horrific. It's my marriage that's a chokehold. I cheat because I haven't had sex in four years. Almost five actually, until I couldn't take anymore.

My husband's lack of libido, constant criticism, and distant attitude put our love life on permanent deep freeze. I asked myself: What was I to do? Could I live like this for the rest of my life? Decades more of zero sex or intimacy?

"Just leave."

"Get divorced."

"Stop lying."

Were suggestions my friends made, but it wasn't that easy. Yes, I knew I should have done all of those things. Don't you think all cheaters know this deep in their depraved hearts? I should have, but I was - and still am - a coward.

While I pondered what to do about this increasingly troubling situation, the answer came to me in my sleep. I dreamt about sex. I woke up sweaty and flushed. Horny as hell. Dying to get laid. I suggested to my husband multiple times that we "get busy," but it fell on deaf ears, he was never interested. I'd been sold a myth that men were always raring to go. Some maybe, but not my husband.

"Hon," I touched him gently one weekend morning, three years into our sexless state. I was hoping I didn't have to say the words. He might be able to figure it out by himself.

"What?" he replied - and not sweetly.

I tried caressing his torso.

"Stop that," he responded. Then he grimaced.

I knew he was ticklish, which I respected, but there weren't any parts of his body open to touching, according to his rules. Not his chest, not his legs, not his neck, absolutely nowhere. Could he really be that sensitive? He was probably the only man alive that denied his eager wife access to his body. He did it to punish me. He knew about my libido, my desires; he ignored my needs.

When he saw me masturbating, which I tried to do in secret quietly and quickly, he looked at me with disgust.

"Why can't you control yourself?" he snarled. Why should I have to?

Because I'm weak.

I'd always thought sex was part of marriage. I never imagined I would masturbate at forty-eight for my only sexual release. How had I gotten here? Stuck in solitary confinement while ostensibly being part of a long-term partnership.

Why didn't he want me?

"Of course, I love you," he said. Yet, he never showed it. Decades of not being enough had crushed my self-esteem into a fine powder.

I'd been under his thumb for far too long, but not his body.

I thought about what I tried to get his attention. I dieted losing 50 pounds, I cut my hair into a cute bob, I wore prettier clothes, a new red lipstick, I'd keep the house cleaner. I'd work harder at my job. I was sure he'd admire that. Yet he barely noticed. It didn't warrant a glance. No matter what I looked like, no matter what I wore or didn't, none made a difference.

All I got were snide comments and shaming - too many "why do you need to?" questions.

"You're taking too long. You're too loud," he said.

"Shhhh. Be quiet."

He didn't want to hear what I had to say.

I vowed if I heard that one more time, I would cheat. Period.

I wasn't sure if I was truly serious about having an affair until a single friend who was looking for more than friendship messaged me.

"I've always wanted you," he wrote.

I turned over the phone, shocked.

I didn't reply. I couldn't understand someone wanting me so badly. That desire felt foreign like they meant it for some other woman.

"I'm married," I texted.

"I know, but I still want you."

The more my marriage ground to a halt, the easier it was to contemplate saying yes. Here was a man who desired me. Telling me all the things I'd wanted to hear for so long.

I consistently rebuffed him.

"I can't."

"It's impossible."

"Think about it," he replied.

Lust made me blush. All I could do was think about it.

Still, I couldn't wrap my mind around committing adultery. The guilt and attraction just intensified. I had wanted him too, for as long as I could remember, but acting on that attraction would mean I was really cheating.

Finally, I agreed to meet him at a local park to talk about his texts. And then the kiss.

The bottom line was my lover gave me something my husband couldn't - or simply wouldn't.

We discussed terms while walking around the park.

"This is just sex," I insisted. "It can never be more than that. Do you understand?"

He readily agreed.

Affairs were a reminder of what was missing. The thought of not experiencing the terrible beauty of raw sensuality left me dead inside. And I had years under my belt of feeling dead inside, of being denied a need. I was deprived of any kind of warmth and intimacy in my marriage. From no hugging, no touching, no caressing to no sex. It wasn't normal, was it?

It was normal. Over 260,000 anonymous strangers on r/deadbedroom subreddit discussed why sex evaporated in their relationships. Post after post of loveless and sexless marriages - partners who withdrew and disconnected. Spouse's left waiting and hoping for a change. But the only difference was more rejection.

I was done waiting.

One day, six months into our affair, my lover declared, "You are the only one for me."

Oh no. It was just sex. I didn't want more, and I couldn't allow myself to.

I was backpedaling as fast as I could, and he plowed ahead, planning our non-existent future.

I can't run away.

That was childish and immature. Not that I was new to those characteristics. Ironically, "Act your age!" and "grow up" were some of my husband's favorite comebacks to any of my suggestions we focus on intimacy in our marriage.

I didn't want to be responsible. I wanted the inherent freedom of cheating, coupled with the safety net and respectability of marriage. I knew that it was a contradiction. I needed to choose, but I couldn't. I wanted to walk the tightrope. The problem was that I'd get hurt when I fell.

All those years of doing the right thing hadn't prepared me for the messiness of love affairs. Living a sexless life was more comfortable, almost. Cheating meant lying. Lots of lying. And this elaborate ruse took chunks of me with every single one. The guilt made masturbation look less lonely.

Did the risk outweigh the reward? No. The bonus was sweeter, unfortunately. I couldn't stop.

Why did I say yes that first time? And keep saying yes over and over?

At first, I thought I could limit our affair to a few delicious escapades, I'd get screwing out of my system. Then, I quickly realized that my plan was fruitless. It felt so right lying in my lover's bed, his hands tracing my body.

Maybe because I'd denied my sexuality for so long? I didn't think I'd have thrown away the foundation of my marriage for lousy sex. Nope. I'm stupid, but not that stupid. I would have chalked it up to poor self-control and moved on with my sexless marriage. But it was mind-blowing sex. This made ending impossible.

Despite all the promises I'd made to myself, I wanted more- and I risk everything to get it. My comfortable life, my social standing, my friends, my marriage. All for those fleeting carnal pleasures. I felt like a man. Weren't women better at controlling their desires?

What was wrong with me?

My fantasy of having it all never even came close to materializing. I didn't get half the perfect life I figured I'd have. But I knew I deserved more, deserved a place where I am desired rather than rejected. That place ended up being in another man's bed.

My first time with my lover was two years ago, and I have never felt so beautiful, so adored. My husband is an outstanding father, provider. On the outside, everything looks perfect. White picket fence included. Except, he doesn't want me.

I'm the face of cheating, and I don't think I can stop.

This isn't the life I thought I would have. I wanted it all with one man: passion and a love story. I didn't get a happy ending. Although my affairs gave me a glimpse of what could have been.